


Actions (Sometimes) Speak Louder Than Words

by frankie_mcstein



Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Emotional reticence of a British mind, F/M, Found Family, One Hundred Ways to Say I Love You, and fluff, eventual Miggy, foreign languages in place of emotional expression, naturally, why she is the way she is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24772717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_mcstein/pseuds/frankie_mcstein
Summary: It was never easy to show her emotions. She was raised to believe that her words should be sarcastic so her actions could convey her feelings.It was only natural that she should learn to say "I love you" in a dozen different languages.It was only to be expected that Magnum would be the one to make her realise her words could be enough.
Relationships: Juliet Higgins/Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV
Comments: 27
Kudos: 105





	Actions (Sometimes) Speak Louder Than Words

**Author's Note:**

> A conversation on Discord sparked me thinking about Higgins and how alike we are in terms of emotions and how uncomfortable it is to express them. This all snowballed from there.

She'd come to realise it was the upper-class British way, sarcasm and insults instead of warmth and softness. Actions always spoke louder than words, so that was the Higgins way. Why tell someone you cared about them when you could insult them instead and trust your actions to get your point across? There was a pattern to it though; rules to be followed. The insults had to be about something that wasn't an actual insecurity. That way, they weren't actually insulting. 

"Okay, scarecrow," she'd say to her father when he was being especially overbearing. To an outsider, it would sound like she was very rudely making fun of his unruly curls. Someone who knew him might assume it was a reference to the character in his favourite film,  _ The Wizard Of Oz, _ and that she was subtly insulting his intelligence. At certain points, both interpretations were right, and at no time was her father ever actually bothered. He was proud of his hair, spent good money on shampoo and conditioner, and deliberately kept it just a little bit too long. And he had three PhDs; there was no questioning his intelligence.

So he would grin when she said it, a brief flash of affection in his eyes before he would throw an insult her way in return. And the next day she would 'just happen' to pick up some Pontefract cakes on her way home. Or he would 'accidentally' buy a book she'd been wanting to read. And she would know that he knew that she adored him and that he doted on her. 

When her mother got sick, the one person in her life that she had, on occasion, been able to show her emotions to without wrapping them up in banter first, she simply doubled down on the gallows humour. Bad prognosis followed bad news followed bad test results, and, as her father got quieter, less likely to respond to her comments, she got quieter too. As the emotions she was expressing became bigger and harder, fear and anger and loneliness, the words she did drop into the world became more acidic. 

But her actions were as soft as ever. She would always get up a quarter of an hour early to have coffee on the table when her father came down. She'd always made sure there was toast sitting by his side of the table, butter in the dish. She'd always made sure, no matter how tired she was, or how bad a day they'd had, to kiss his forehead before she went up to bed. Because, as far as she knew, the things you did were always more important than the things you said.

Richard had been quick to learn. They'd argued about his work ethic when they had started their first mission. She'd known he had thought she was unreasonable and aloof. That was fine by her; it meant she didn't have to think about the feelings that had been bubbling inside her since they'd been introduced. And then she had saved his life, taking a bullet meant for him, and she'd seen his expression change. She'd seen him considering her actions instead of her words, seen the moment he'd remembered she had always bought two sandwiches and offered him the extra.

The next time they'd met, pulled into a briefing that neither of them had been warned about, she had been kept waiting for ten minutes, annoyed with Ian for not telling her what was going on but excited at the thought of seeing Richard again. She'd been delighted when, instead of rolling his eyes the way he had at first, he had grinned at her remarks about his tardiness, her biting comments about "'now' doesn't mean when you feel like it" mitigated by her pouring him a cup of tea.

"Whatever you say, Violet."

She'd blinked, watching him as he watched her. Violet? There was a question in his eyes as she worked through what was clearly an insult, mind firing rapidly.  _ 'Violet Beauregarde,' _ it had said in less than a second, and she'd grinned. It had felt like the start of something, had  _ been _ the start of something. 

When she had introduced Richard to her father, it had taken less than half an hour for them to probe each other for weaknesses. They then spent the next few hours carefully avoiding said sore spots while discussing politics and arguing about various opinions they all held.

The first time she'd bought him a gift, a little painting of a yacht sailing beneath a moonlit sky, she'd watched him open it with all the excitement of a child at Christmas.

"I love it, Jay-Bird," he'd said softly.

"Of course you do," she'd said. "I'm wonderful." Her tone was dismissive, but he'd known it wasn't her words or her tone that mattered. 

He was watching her eyes as she spoke; he saw the very real warmth in them. "You are," he'd agreed. And then, "Wonderfully aggravating."

They'd both laughed at that. She was perfectly secure in his love for her; there was no risk of him being serious. And he'd given her a hug, pulling her into his side to soften any blow the insult might have carried. Rules and patterns, there was always an order to it. Always an action to offset the words.

"I love you," he'd said.

"Dwi'n caru ti," she'd said because the actual words 'I love you' had always been semi off-limits in her family. Since her mother's funeral and its awkward, stilted, "I love you, Mum," it had been a no-go area. But other languages were safe. And there were always her actions to fall back on.

Even when she got the visit, that awful, world-shattering visit, confirming he had been killed, when anyone would have forgiven her for forgetting her upbringing, discarding all the rules, she reverted to type.

"I'm so sorry to have to tell you this," Ian had said, looking devastated, "but we've lost Richard."

"Bloody hell," she'd replied, "that was careless. Will we find him again do you think?"

It hadn't been a joke. She hadn't laughed, hadn't been trying to make Ian laugh. It was all she could say, all she could do. It was either that or cry. And crying wasn't something she did in front of other people. There were rules about this too. She'd cried later, of course, screaming into her pillow as her heart tore inside of her. But, by then, everyone in the office knew she had joked about her fiancé's death.

She'd stuck to small gestures and big insults after that, quickly finding it easier to bury the warmth behind cold words than she had expected it might be. She had Magnum and his friends convinced she wanted him to move out, that she thought he was a waste of space. And, at first, she  _ had _ thought he was a little too easy-going, a little too quick to believe the best of people, but she'd have been upset if he'd left the Nest. 

She'd liked him and his friends. She'd liked the easy way they joked with each other, even though she was baffled by the warm regard they were so open with. She'd gone out of her way to help him with his ridiculous cases, made damn sure she was in the loop on his dangerous cases. To her mind, that was enough to prove her affection. But these men were just so overwhelmingly expressive, and they couldn't seem to get their heads around the fact that she wasn't. 

They all knew she cared about them all, but she strongly suspected they had no idea how deeply she adored them. They hadn't seemed to notice the things she was trying to tell them with her actions. Or, maybe, thanks to the bonds that had forged between them, they didn't see killing for each other, enduring torture to protect another, as anything out of the ordinary. She'd never been good with vocal expressions of affection, but these men, her boys, did it so often, so easily.

"C'mon, Higgins, it's tradition. You have to say what you're thankful for."

She'd wanted to say something offhand and casual. Something about being thankful that her business partner hadn't gotten killed yet. But something had stopped the words on her lips. And she'd dropped her eyes to her glass instead.

"I'm thankful for everyone sitting at this table," she'd said, fighting down the urge to simply bolt. "I felt like I didn't have a place in the world, and you made room for me in your family." The heavy silence had been her undoing. "And that really is as emotional as I can get in public without at least a full week's advance notice."

The huffs of laughter had been quiet. Their voices when they'd praised her words had rung off the walls. And Magnum had smiled down the table at her, as if he was proud of her, as if she had surprised him and he had enjoyed the experience.

And when he'd come to see her later that night, when he had taken her hand in his, he had been so earnest, so gentle. He'd have been disappointed if she had said no, but he would have understood. She'd even believed him when he said he wouldn't let it affect their current relationship.

He hadn't needed to worry. Somewhere along the way, somewhere between the rocky ground they had started on and the knowledge that his brothers thought of her as their sister, was the idea that she had been hiding behind Richard's memory. 

She'd resisted Magnum's urging to 'get back on the horse,' not because she didn't want to date anyone but because she didn't want to date anyone who wasn't him. And, while her words had been ones full of sarcasm, her actions had been full of desire. And he had finally realised it, finally seen what she had been showing him for months.

"I love you," he told her as they were walking into La Mariana to share the news of their relationship with their family.

"Te amo," she'd replied, and she'd hated herself a little for not being able to be better at the emotional stuff, for not being able to simply tell him how she was feeling instead of showing him.

But he hadn't asked for a translation. He hadn't seemed put-off. Instead, he had smiled at her, warm and open and with adoration in his eyes. He had let her tug his head down for a kiss, and she knew, from the look on his face when she let him pull away, that he had understood the words she wanted so badly to say but couldn't form.

Actions spoke louder than words, after all.

"I love you," he'd say to her at random, unpredictable times.

"Je t'aime," she'd reply and count on her smile to tell him what she meant.

"Mo ghrá thú," she'd say and hope he could read the words in her gaze.

"Jag älskar dig," she'd murmur and trust that he could feel the translation in her kiss.

And, finally, at a time when their friends had been dropping hints about suits and white dresses, he had whispered back, "Ich liebe dich," and looked at her with nothing but patience and love as her eyes had filled with tears.

"I love you," she'd told him, taking his action of learning how to say he loved her in a new language and returning the gesture in the only way she could think of.

And he had grinned at her, eyes bright with the emotion he had shared, the same emotion she had shared. 

"I love you," she'd told him again, to make sure that he knew. Because sometimes, when all else might fail, words are all you need.

**Author's Note:**

> After angst comes fluff. Every single time. It's almost like I'm predictable.


End file.
